Stars in Your Eyes(86)

“Thank you. I’m happy for you, too.”

The fear eases. “You know that trip to the cabin?” he says.

“Yeah.”

“We said we’d go back once a year on the same day.”

I remember that.

He seems embarrassed. “Actually, I—uh, I’ve been going back every year since.”

My smile grows. “Really?”

“I don’t know why. The nostalgia, maybe. The closure. I needed closure from you, so running into you at the coffee shop…It was everything I needed. Thanks for meeting with me, Logan.”

I’m not sure how to express the gratitude flowering inside of me. “You don’t have to thank me. I should be the one thanking you.”

We go back to sitting in silence. I think our time here is done. There’s an old part of me that wants to stay, to keep talking to Matt, but—well, I don’t think I’m not worth his time. But I know I hurt him. I can’t expect him to want to stay here with me in a park, speaking to me for hours. I’m lucky that he gave me a chance to apologize at all. “Should probably get back home.”

I’m not sure if I’m imagining the disappointment. He nods. “Sure.”

We stand from the park bench. “I’m headed to Queens,” I tell him. “You?”

“I’m staying downtown.”

We walk toward the train together in silence. Regret grows with every step. This is probably going to be the last time I speak to him again. I’ll see him in the tabloids and think about how I’d missed out on the best person in my life. And—shit, even though I know it has to be, I wish this wasn’t goodbye.

But Amy always said I have needs, too—wants and desires, just as much as any other person. It’s all right to express them. Matt was usually the one chasing after me, and now, the idea of chasing after him instead feels new and fucking terrifying. My heart hammers at the thought, imagining that he’ll reject me—and wouldn’t I deserve it? A part of me feels like I shouldn’t even ask, not when I’m the one who has hurt him. Is it fucked up of me, to want to pull him back in?

But I’ve done the work. And in the quiet space between the tangled thoughts and my hammering heart, there’s a breath.

“Matt,” I say, before I can change my mind. My voice cracks with nerves. He looks at me, surprised. “Would you—I don’t know, want to get a coffee sometime?”

He stops walking. “Coffee?” he repeats.

I’m not breathing. I know that, but I still can’t force myself to take a slow inhale like I’ve been practicing. I brace myself for the rejection. “Yeah,” I say, words starting to come out faster now. “I’ve missed you, to be honest, and I’d like to spend time with you again, but—yeah, God, I understand if you don’t want to.”

He watches me, his mouth open in a small O, not saying a word.

I look away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No,” he says quickly. “I mean—shit, I mean yes. I want to.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just moved here for the next few months and don’t know anyone and it’d be nice to catch up and…I’m rambling.”

I meet his eye. Relief spreads through me, but even then my shoulders tense, waiting for Matt to laugh in my face. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I mean—it doesn’t have to be as…”

“Right. It doesn’t have to be a date.”

“No. But I’d like to keep talking.”

“Same,” I say. All the fear of the moment begins to fade. I hesitate. “I have to tell you, though, that I’m still working on myself.”

“I know.”

“I might have to communicate a lot, you know? It could get weird sometimes. But I have to say when I’m feeling anxious and scared and when I need to pull back.”

“I’d like you to do that. As long as you don’t start to push me away.” He seems to have a hard time looking at me.

“I won’t. I might have a hard time unraveling my emotions. There’re—well, there are still a lot of emotions to unpack.”

He frowns. “Really?”

“Yeah. I was in love with you. It isn’t easy to forget those feelings.”

“You were in love with me?” he says, like he doesn’t believe me.

“Yeah. Yes. I loved you, Matt.” I still might. I’m not sure. I think about him all the time—him and the way he treated me with so much love and compassion, the days we had together on and off set, lying in bed together. I loved him then, and seeing him in front of me now, familiar emotions settle in my chest again.

“You never told me that,” Matt says. “I told you that I loved you, but you never said the words back.”

Fuck. Another way I hurt him, and I didn’t even realize it. I remember him saying that he loved me, and in those moments thinking that I didn’t believe him. I was unable to say that I loved him, too. I was so afraid then.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have. Because I did. I loved you.”

Matt looks upset. He clenches his jaw, eyes wet. He’s allowed to be angry at me. I can’t help that.

I wait for him to speak.